


Kiss Me, I'm Irish

by Rozsa



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:14:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24431911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rozsa/pseuds/Rozsa
Summary: It's all about St. Patrick's Day and the luck of the Irish.This story was co-written with MaddyM and is the first appearance of Elliot's friend, Aidan Murphy. Picture a Grey's Anatomy era Eric Dane in your head and you'll know exactly what we were thinking. Enjoy!
Relationships: Olivia Benson/Elliot Stabler
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	1. written by MaddyM

" _No_ , Elliot," she grumbled, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder. She should have done laundry earlier this morning, because now she didn't think she had a single pair of sweatpants clean, and with the way she had been hitting the track hard lately, there was no way she'd want to slip into a pair of pants already worn earlier this week. She was so frustrated she grabbed the entire pile of cotton shorts down from the shelf in her closet, letting them drop at her feet.  
  
She stared at them all angrily, willing even one of them to just be pants. It was goddamned March, she needed pants to go running.  
  
"Liv, come on. Lighten up. It's Saturday, the sun is shining, we're not catching this weekend...Hey! Murphy! Yeah, hold on," there was a muffled pause.  
  
Olivia rolled her eyes. She could barely hear Elliot over the din of noise behind him. It was an atrocious mix of basketball, music and basically, yelling. She sighed, wondering if the new, sensitive Elliot would take offense if she simply hung up. She could always claim later that she lost the signal.  
  
"Elliot -"  
  
"Yeah, Liv, one sec -" then the muffled pause again. "Oh hell no, put me down for Niagara. They're the sleeper this year," he said to whoever was next to him.  
  
"Hey El?" she tried. No luck. "El, hey," she wondered if she should make static noises with her mouth for effect. She decided against it. "El, hey, can't hear you El. Gonna hang up, losing the -"  
  
"Yeah _right,_ Liv." He was suddenly back, clear as day. "You need a new trick. Get your ass down here. You've got fifteen minutes." And then he hung up.  
  
_He_ hung up.  
  
Well.  
  
Huh.  
  
Well, _shit._  
  
Olivia kicked at the shorts on the floor, determined to find a pair of pants in the mess. Just one pair. One clean pair and she would go running. Fate would decide. The black ones were shorts, the gray ones shorts, the maroon ones, maybe...ah, no. _Fuck_. She had cut those sweatpants off last year to make them shorts.  
  
Dammit all to hell. Elliot not only was about to control her Saturday, he controlled fate in general too.  
  
Figures.  
  
Olivia sighed. This was not her thing. St. Patrick's Day in the city was always a mess. The drinking, even when the day fell during the work week, started in the early morning hours. This year it fell on a Saturday, and that just didn't bode well for anyone. Not surprisingly, the worst offenders were the cop bars, because half of the NYPD seemed to be Irish Catholic sometimes.  
  
On St. Patrick's Day, the half that wasn't just pretended they were too.  
  
At least Elliot had gone to McGillicuddy's. Not a particularly law enforcement skewed crowd there. It was a big place too, a few small dance floors, okay music, lots of television screens.

Olivia willed away the headache that was still forming at the thought.

Sitting at a bar drinking dollar pints of green beer didn't sound appealing at _all._  
  
She preferred scotch. Neat. In a place where she could sit and drink as close to alone as possible.  
  
It had been the same for the partner that had inhabited the desk across from hers for the last two years. Of course, that was before she had gone away and come back to Buddhist Elliot. This Elliot didn't get angry, didn't yell, didn't rant and rave. This one stood by silently when she beat up the perps with just an infuriating smirk on his face. This one had found some unsettling zen thing that completely unnerved her. This one...this one was sitting in a bar somewhere at noon on a Saturday, betting on basketball and likely drinking that green crap.  
  
He was practically... _normal._  
  
Which was fine. Really. It was good. Elliot should be normal. He should socialize, and get out during the daylight hours and make new friends. He should buy two squares in the basketball pool and laugh and tease and joke around. It was okay if he was easy-going. She'd get used to it.  
  
As long as he stopped dragging her along into this normalcy crap with him.  
  
She didn't _do_ normal. Normal freaked her the hell out. She didn't want to drink in the afternoon with him. She'd rather wake him in the middle of the night and sit in the cold with coffee and tea. She'd rather huddle in a sedan with him and be quiet through the silence. Those things she knew how to do.  
  
Green beer she didn't understand. Maybe it was an Irish thing that only Irish people innately understood.  
  
Then again, she could be partly Irish. She didn't know enough about her father yet to really know. Her half-brother's name was Marsden, which was English according to Google, but that still didn't account for a total family history.  
  
Olivia swore as she pulled her dark jeans off the shelf, grabbing a black pullover shirt as well. Next to it, her green sweater mocked her. It wasn't necessarily clover green, but rather a soft, celery shade. The tags were still on it because while she had loved it in Bloomingdale's, every time she went to put it on it seemed too girly. Then again, she was trying to let herself go these days, trying to let herself stop hiding the fact that she was female and wear the things that truly appealed to her.  
  
Olivia fingered the ultra-thin cashmere, drawing her lower lip into her mouth as she debated. It was so thin it was see-through, so it had come with a fitted stretchy satin tank top underneath it. The small buttons were made of white pearl and the neckline dipped in a wide circle so that the inner part of her shoulders would be bare. At the wrists, the material fluttered in just a whisper of a feminine flare that had fallen delicately over her hands when she had tried it on.  
  
Olivia stared at it, wondering why she was considering wearing it. After all the times she had put it back, unwilling to deal with the long, unsettling looks Elliot had started giving her over her new clothing choices, and now she curiously felt like putting it on. Her true intention had been to keep it to wear on a date, but the chances that a date would actually materialize any time soon were slim to none at this point.  
  
And this was most certainly _not_ a date.  
  
At all.  
  
It was just beer. With Elliot. In a place so filled with commotion, he'd hardly notice her presence.  
  
Olivia tugged the sweater off the hanger and grabbed a pair of heels to go with her low slung-jeans. She just needed a few minutes to blow her hair out a bit.  
  
She didn't want to know why one thought kept running through her head.  
  
Like _hell_ he wouldn't notice her.  
  
\+ + +  
  
"Holy _fuck."_  
  
Elliot dragged his eyes away from the second television from the right, his attention earned immediately by Murphy's low whistle. "What?"  
  
"I've been a lucky Irish bastard my whole life, but I've never been as lucky or as much of a bastard as you are, m'friend."  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?" Elliot tipped the last of his beer up to his lips, ready for his fourth.  
  
But Murphy was looking past him towards the door. When he realized Elliot was looking at him, he winked then tipped his head towards the entrance to redirect him. "Sin just walked in."  
  
_Sin_. Well, that could only mean one person. Olivia. It was Murph's nickname for her, one that she miraculously had actually smiled at when Murph had first used it. Of course no one else had ever tried it on her, so Elliot didn't know if she actually liked the name or if it was just Murphy's charm and disgustingly good looks that allowed him to get away with it.  
  
Elliot turned his head to follow his friends gaze and the now empty bottle nearly slipped out of his hands. He froze, his entire body stiffening. His entire body. As in _all_ of it.

Holy fuck was right. She was twenty feet away and making her way through the crowd towards him. She must have spotted him before he even turned around, because she wasn't scanning the crowd any longer. She was instead pointedly smiling at every damned admirer that she encountered along the way.  
  
Which was a lot of damned drunk men. Probably a few women too.  
  
_Shit._  
  
"She'd make me speechless too. Jesus, Stabler. You're telling me you've never hit that? I mean, honestly, at least admit you get off to..."  
  
"Shut up, Murphy. _Christ,"_ Elliot muttered, unable to take his eyes off of an oblivious Olivia.

Sin. Just _sin._  
  
Murphy laughed behind him. "Well, I'm gonna go hit the head, because the last thing I need is for my dick to be hard and to have to piss at the same time."  
  
Elliot finally swiveled around. Murphy and he had been friends for years. They had served in the Gulf together and were fellow cops, but even Murph deserved a fist to the face every now and then. Now was starting to look like it might be in his cards. "Watch it, or I swear to God -" Elliot warned, eyes narrowed dangerously.  
  
But Murphy was a big guy, full of confidence and far too easy going because his charmed life had started all the way back in the idyllic Disney childhood he'd had. He just grinned. "Neaderthal suits you, Stabler. I'm gonna be right back, but if you decide to club her over the head and drag her off to your cave, lemme know. Cause I'd like to see her reaction to that." Murph winked. "Hellcat that one, bet she'd scratch -"  
  
"Go," Elliot bit off, his fingers curling far too tightly around his empty bottle.  
  
Murphy walked away, and yet Elliot had no time to recover because her fingers were at his back. He blew out a breath before he turned to face her.  
  
"Hey Elliot," she said casually.  
  
The bar was noisy as hell, but he heard every damned tone and inflection of the way she said his name. Elliot turned to look at her, determined to look at her eyes. Not her throat, not that expanse of skin at the base of her neck, not the curve of her shoulder. Not the…

Un- _frickingbelieveble._

Her damned sweater didn't quite hit the waist of her jeans. There was a sliver of skin…"Hey Liv," he choked out.  
  
Olivia's eyebrow arched at his empty glass. "So that's why you called me. Hoping I'm gonna buy?"  
  
Elliot managed a smile. "You caught me." He stood up, offering her his bar stool as there were none left in the place. "Go ahead and take it."  
  
Olivia shook her head. "I'm fine, thanks."  
  
"In those shoes?" He shot a look at her feet. She wore light green sandals that matched that sweater thing she was wearing. Those heels seemed far too high to be safe to walk in, and yet Olivia had sauntered. _Sauntered._ In _those_ shoes. The ones with the sexy leather straps that darted across perfectly painted pink toenails.  
  
Pink.  
  
"Yeah, pink, you have an issue with that?"  
  
_Shit._ He had said that out loud?  
  
And now she was glaring at him, daring him to say something more.  
  
"You have your gun on you?" he muttered.  
  
"No, why?"  
  
Elliot sighed, dragging his eyes away from her and focusing on the bar. "I'm just worried about my eventual safety is all."  
  
Olivia leaned in close. "You should be. I'm not Irish. I don't do St. Patrick's Day."  
  
He signaled the bartender. "Neither do I. I mean normally I'm-"  
  
"You don't _do_ St. Patrick's Day? Elliot, you're wearing a green shirt that's seen better days with a big clover on the back of it, that says…turn around." Olivia tugged on his arm, turning him towards her so she could read his shirt.  
  
Elliot froze, watching her face pale first then...flush?  
  
_Well fuck him running._  
  
She didn't say anything, just turned back towards the bar and waited for the bartender. "Anyway," she cleared her throat uncomfortably. "I don't do St. Patrick's Day."  
  
His lips curved upwards of their own accord. He couldn't help it. Her golden skin was slightly tinged now, and she was trying to ignore him. She was trying to act irritated and in control, when he had seen that flash in her eyes as she had read his shirt. He shouldn't do it. He really shouldn't. He'd had a few drinks, and maybe that was clouding his judgment. Or maybe it was that damned sweater thing that was clouding his judgment. Maybe it was...

"It's bad luck, you know," he finally taunted, pulling the sound from deep within his locked throat.  
  
The bartender slipped another beer in front of him and Olivia ordered a bottle of Sam Adams and a shot of tequila. He nearly laughed out loud at her desperate plea for the shot. He tipped his bottle up to his mouth, watching her intently. She didn't want to take his bait, and yet her curiosity was eating at her.  
  
He waited. She wouldn't be able to ignore him forever.  
  
Finally she rolled her eyes and looked at him. "What's bad luck?"  
  
"Ignoring Irish tradition."  
  
Again, she tried not to ask. But of course not knowing went against every one of her instincts.  
  
Elliot waited again, enjoying himself immensely. He had missed this. Teasing her, goading her. In all his anger over the last few years he hadn't noticed the absence of play with her until now. And it was even more fun now that she was so high-strung these days. This new calm thing that had come over him had its upside.  
  
She blew out a breath, her bangs shifting in the wind of it. "What am I ignoring, Elliot?" she finally asked, turning to where he had sat back on the stool she had declined.  
  
He smiled, his lips already against the mouth of the bottle as he looked back across the bar. He could still see her out of the corner of his eyes, and that was important because he wasn't going to miss her reaction for the world. "My shirt."  
  
Her eyes widened and she backed up for a second. She turned to him then as he finally looked at her. Her mouth opened and then closed, but no sound came out. For one, quick second her suddenly heated gaze dropped to his lips and then she caught herself and looked back up at him, trying to clear the moment.  
  
She might have caught herself, but he had caught her first. And it was a doozy of a catch.  
  
Olivia Benson was very blatantly, obviously, gloriously fucking _attracted_ to him.  
  
Well, the Irish really did have a hold on this luck thing.  
  
She was staring at him, and he knew she was trying to think of something to say. "I don't care what your shirt says, Elliot," she breathed. "I am _not_ going to kiss you." Olivia slammed her jaw shut then, tipping up her chin in defiance.  
  
He'd like to un-pry that jaw right about now. His lips twisted into a grin as he focused on hers, on that shiny, taunting gloss that she had flirtatiously swiped across them, making them look even ful-  
  
"Told you that you were thinking about it, Stabler. But dude, you've been out of the game too long. You're not supposed to _ask_ them, you're just supposed to take the hint and then just do it."  
  
Murphy. Always with the impeccable timing. Shit. Murph slid into his barstool on the other side of Elliot and winked at a now stupefied Olivia in greeting.  
  
Olivia never missed a thing, and she wasn't about to start now. She downed the shot placed in front of her. "If he kissed me, Murphy, I'd shoot him."  
  
Oh _really?_  
  
Game on, Benson.  
  
Elliot knew it was dangerous. He knew and he didn't care. Not today, not after a few beers, not when his team was winning and the sun was finally out and he was single. Not when his fucking drop-dead, hot-as-hell partner had just glided in with her hair deliberately tousled and goddamned pink toenails. "You'd like it," he said, staring straight ahead and taking another sip of his beer without looking at her. He kept his eyes on the game straight in front of him, knowing he had just scored a three-pointer in the game now simmering between him and Olivia.  
  
It should have been a national holiday because Olivia was actually stunned into silence for once. She openly gaped at him although her eyes had narrowed. " _Excuse_ me?"  
  
Elliot grinned, never taking the bottle away from where it hovered near his lips. "You heard me."  
  
Murph whistled under his breath and turned around, mimicking Elliot's position and facing the game as he openly displayed his amusement at the drama unfolding next to him.  
  
Just two boys watching the game, with one girl facing them in silent shock.  
  
"Is this what I came here for? For you to act like a complete -"  
  
Elliot turned to face her, slowly, not knowing where his courage was coming from. He knew he had just crossed the line, knew he was being bad, and for once, he just didn't fucking care. Bad was fun and he'd never been truly bad in his entire life. "Careful, Olivia. You could deny it, but blarney never suited you."  
  
She gripped the bar then reached for her beer. She was actually shaking. He wanted to laugh out loud, but instead he got up and pushed his stool underneath her. She sat without protest, nearly falling back onto it. She tried to look at him, but he was turned to face her and so she was now eye level with only one thing in her vision.  
  
His chest emblazoned with the offending saying.  
  
Kiss Me, I'm Irish.  
  
She blinked again and took a deep breath before turning and reaching for her beer. "Your shirt is too small, Elliot. It's ridiculous, really. I mean, if you think the way to finally get a date is to wear clothing that's too tight with absurd sayings splashed across -"  
  
She never finished because the music came to a screeching halt as the DJ in the corner once again welcomed everyone loudly, wishing everyone a happy St. Patty's Day. Elliot and Murph knew what was coming next. They had been there all day, they knew what was about to happen, and the way Elliot was feeling right now he just might sing along for the first time.  
  
The opening notes played, and then it happened.  
  
The bar filled with drunk patrons, some who had been drinking since eight a.m., now broke into an old Irish song.  
  
_I'm looking over a four leaf clover  
That I overlooked before _  
  
Olivia sat there, drinking her beer and staring straight ahead, pretending to be engrossed in the NCAA game on the television hung from the ceiling across the bar. She completely ignored the revelry around her.  
  
Well, that was no fun.  
  
And he was standing which gave him leverage over her. He caught Murph's eye and his friend grinned. It was just the sort of devilish encouragement he needed.  
  
Elliot used his proximity to lean over towards Olivia, feeling the warmth of his beer slide over his skin. She smelled good, Jesus, she smelled like -  
  
_One leaf is sunshine, the second is rain,  
Third is the roses that grow in the lane. _  
  
"Liv, aren't you gonna sing along?" he teased softly, his lips practically touching her ear.  
  
She turned to him instinctively, and then realized her mistake. Her lips were inches from his, and _goddammit_ he wanted to kiss her. Right here in public. It couldn't just be the effects of his fourth beer. Ever since she had walked in his whole body had been on high alert. This couldn't be good, this sort of attraction. He had always wanted her, he was fucking human after all and she was not an average looking woman by any means. Olivia was innately sexy, in a way that just permeated everything about her. Her hair was glossy, her eyes were melted, liquid things and her body, her body...well, _fuck._  
  
"You sing in my ear Elliot, and I swear by -"  
  
So he did it. Of course he did it. She had challenged him after all.  
  
"No need explaining the one remaining, is somebody I adore. I'm looking over a four leaf clover, that - shit! That hurt!" He rubbed his stomach where the back of her hand had slapped him.  
  
She finally smiled. And it was a big grin. "Good," she said, the bar breaking into an uproarious cheer as the song ended and the music went back on. The bartender walked by and Olivia called out to him. "I need another shot of tequila," she pleaded.  
  
In seconds the amber liquid was in front of her.  
  
Olivia involuntarily glanced at Elliot again, her eyes drifting towards his chest, her breathing quickening. _So she thought his shirt was too tight, huh?_ That meant she had thought about it at all, that meant, right now she was _probably_ thinking about -  
  
Olivia picked up her shot and downed it, not missing a single drop.


	2. written by Rozsa

She set the small glass heavily on the bar with a sigh. Son of a bitch, what is that smell? she thought. There was a distinct smell of…fuck…Elliot…drifting about her. She could swear that she’d caught a stronger whiff of it just then, almost as it had been right under her nose. Right under her nose. It couldn’t be. Nah. Could it? Gingerly, she brought the back of her right hand to her nose, pretending to wipe her mouth. Yep. The back of her hand—the one she had used to smack her partner in the stomach and then down a shot—smelled like Elliot. Good God, did he wash his clothes in his cologne or something? Not that she’d mind. She rather liked the smell of her partner. His cologne, of course. Because there was a difference.   
  
And she was still breathing against her hand.   
  
She quickly pulled her hand away from her face and settled it in her lap, where she closed her left hand around it to prevent it from going anywhere. Using the tip of a sandal-clad foot, she pushed away from the bar and swiveled back around to face the television. She was careful to make the turn away from Elliot. From the corner of her left eye, however, the broad expanse of her partner’s chest still taunted her. On the television, someone from some team (she didn’t know who or which one and, frankly, didn’t give a shit) sunk a three and she brought her fingers to her mouth to whistle, pretending to care and giving herself something to do as a distraction. It may well have worked, too, had she not chosen to whistle using the fingers of her goddamned right hand. “Fuck,” she muttered under her breath.   
  
“Make up your mind, Liv.” His voice was laughing at her side.   
  
She rolled her eyes for good measure. “What are you talking about, Elliot?”   
  
“Come on. You just whistled when Mississippi State scored and then muttered, and I quote, ‘Fuck’.” So, are you happy they scored or not?”   
  
Damn him. He knew fully fucking well that she was not a basketball person. And this was his way of calling her on it. His new, passive-aggressive zen way. Damn him. Just damn him.   
  
Olivia turned her head to glare at him, taking care to tilt her head and glare up at him, avoiding the white block print on his shirt. “For your information, Elliot, my saying ‘Fuck’ had nothing to do with that basketball game.” She was so intent on arguing with him, that it didn’t occur to her what she had said until he did what he did. What he did was grin at her.   
  
Son of a goddamned whore of a bitch. She had walked right into that one.   
  
“So, what did it have to do with?” He made himself sound like one of the gals just trying to get her friend to spill the juicy details of a hot date. She was sure he did that on purpose. Just as she was sure he had something up his sleeve when he nudged her arm with his elbow as he spoke.   
  
Time for evasive maneuvers. She shook her head, telling him “It didn’t have to do with anything, Elliot” as she swung the stool around to grab her beer. Taking a big drink, she willed herself to get it together, took a deep breath and once again pushed off with her toes. She turned the wrong way.   
  
Elliot was quick to jump back slightly when her knees nearly collided with the crotch of his jeans. He put his hands up in mock surrender. “Whoa! Careful where you swing those legs, Liv. I’m not packing, promise…no need to go for the boys there. That is only to be used in the most desperate of self-defense situations.”   
  
As soon as his arms had gone skyward, it had become impossible not to notice the way the already snug shirt stretched even tighter across his torso. There were only two explanations: either he’d had the shirt for far too many years and had grown into and beyond it or the shirt used to fit him not too terribly long ago and he’d merely been spending so much extra time in the gym that it had gone from basic T-shirt to the pectoral and abdominal defining bliss of a muscle shirt. She was busy contemplating this; so much so that the words she heard were: her name, “I’m,” “packing,”, “the boys,” “desperate.”   
  
She nearly dropped her beer.   
  
For once, she was thankful that Murphy was standing within earshot because, just then, he peered around Elliot at her and chimed in, “Yeah, going after the family jewels is something even Sin shouldn’t do.” He feigned getting hit in the groin, doubling over, hands crossed over his crotch. Okay, so apparently Elliot thought she had been about to kick him in “the boys.” That explained part of what she’d heard, anyway. And after studying the angle, she supposed her knees were at just about the right level.   
  
And now, Olivia was staring at her partner’s zipper.

\+ + +

For the second time that night, Elliot Stabler could have sworn he just caught his partner blushing. Her eyes had traced an invisible line from her thigh, down to her knee, across the minimal space between them, right to where she had almost banged him. Banged her knees into him. Down, boy. The part he was enjoying most was the fact that her eyes had yet to leave his groin. A flush of color began creeping into her cheeks, and she immediately looked away. God bless him, Elliot couldn’t help himself. “See something you like, Liv?” He knew he must have the most shit-eating of grins plastered on his face; but he had at least two years of teasing her to catch up on. Although, it occurred to him as he watched her determinedly avoid his gaze, he was quite sure that the teasing he had done before had never ventured into a territory as volatile and delicate at the same time as this one.   
  
Her eyes snapped immediately up to his and he could read the swirling pattern in the brown that told him she was thinking—quickly. Those eyes became slits as she answered “Yeah. My shoes.”   
  
Huh?   
  
“Your shoes?” he questioned.   
  
“My shoes.” Her voice was confidently sarcastic. “Come on, El,” she scoffed, “if I really wanted to damage that part of your anatomy, I wouldn’t have used my knee.” She paused a moment, for dramatics, he guessed. Elliot raised an eyebrow at her and Murphy watched expectantly from around his friend. “I would have used this.” Olivia crossed her left leg over her right, extending it in front of her then. Where Elliot stood after dodging her knee, her foot was raised to just in front of the left side of his hip. He looked down at it. As if on cue, she flexed her toes back toward her, giving him the best possible view of the four-inch weapon she had walked in on.   
  
He reacted by mimicking Murphy’s earlier impression of a man who’d taken a hit to the groin and Murphy, for his part, repeated it. She rewarded him with a mischievous laugh that went along with her mischievous smile. That, Elliot was pretty sure, was not a combination he’d gotten from her before. And it was sexy as hell. She threw her head back slightly as she laughed, stretching the sleek column of her neck and all he could think of was how badly he wanted to get his lips on it. He wasn’t entirely sure how she was managing the delicate balancing act of perching on a backless stool, crossing her legs and holding one out in front of her, all without using her hands, which remained in her lap, one still clutching her beer. What he was sure of was how such a position, with her upper body tilted slightly away from him, displayed the flat expanse of her stomach at its finest. Careful not to disturb her balance, he reached down with his left hand, eyes never wavering from hers, took a gentle hold of her shin and softly pushed her leg down.   
  
She eyed him curiously as she sat up straight and his eyes were again trained on every detail of her body position. Not having anything to lean back on, she was forced to sit up with her shoulders back, accentuating her long, curvy lines. The gaze turned to suspicion as he handed Murphy his beer, placed his right hand on the edge of the bar, settling his left on her knee. Suspicion grew into shock as he leaned closer into her space. There was no way he could blame what he was about to do solely on the beer. This went beyond that. This was starting to get personal. Animalistic. This was a game.   
  
Olivia seemed determined to hold her ground, even as his face came within inches of hers. She pulled away a fraction before steeling herself, unwilling to forfeit. If he was going to win, he knew it wouldn’t be the result of a walk-over. He leveled his eyes opposite her brown ones, narrowing them in a playful glare. His voice low and just loud enough to enable her to hear it over the noise of the bar despite his proximity, he informed her “You wouldn’t.”   
  
If there was one thing he knew about Olivia Benson, it was that she did not like anybody telling her what she would or wouldn’t do. What she could or couldn’t do. As expected, two perfectly groomed brows arched high above their respective smoky eyelids. Just as quickly, her brows relaxed and she tilted her head as she regarded him carefully. She matched the pitch and volume of her voice to his, asking, “Is that a dare, Stabler?”   
  
The only breaks in their eye contact were the milliseconds it took them to blink. “Doesn’t matter. You still wouldn’t do it.”   
  
“And how do you know what I wouldn’t do, Elliot?” She set forth her own dare, daring him to answer.   
  
“Because,” he leaned impossibly closer, able to smell the tequila on the breaths she was finished with, “you’re overwhelmed by my charm and, frankly, you like me too damned much.”   
  
“That so?”   
  
“Yeah. That so.”   
  
She remained silent, blinking a few times. Finally, she allowed her eyes to drift away from his steady gaze. Away and down. There. She did it again. She looked right at his mouth. Slowly, she dragged her studious stare back to meet the blue eyes he knew must be glinting with something devious.   
  
“Hmm,” she hummed in contemplation. “Hey, Elliot?” She tipped her chin toward him slightly.   
  
“Yeah, Olivia?”   
  
She brought her lips a whisper away from his before smoothly moving cheek-to-cheek with him, speaking softly into his ear. “I’m still not going to kiss you.”   
  
Elliot’s mind was still reeling with the proximity her lips had just been to his when he’d felt her speak those words next to his ear. Then, she didn’t move. She simply waited for his reaction, cheek brushing almost unnoticeably against his, the gauntlet thrown down. He gave in this time, wanting—needing—to read her eyes. Reluctantly, he pulled away from her, coming to stand at his full height. She met his gaze throughout and what he saw there was not something he could say he’d ever seen written in Olivia’s tumultuous brown eyes. He read amusement; but hidden between the lines of text was what he could describe as nothing short of seduction. Holy hell.   
  
Well, he was willing to concede one round. This one was definitely hers. Time to regroup and strategize. He allowed her to have her wry grin of satisfaction, opting not to respond with anything beyond a thoughtful stare. Olivia Benson was never one to back down from a fight and she wasn’t afraid to gamble. She was nothing if not smart, however, and after he’d silently handed over this battle in the war, she quickly decided it was time to collect her chips and cash out. She twisted to the side to snag her beer from the bar and hopped lightly off the stool, landing toe-to-toe and eye-to-eye with Elliot. She appraised him from her near-equal height (even if it was only due to those sandals…) for a moment before beating a gracefully hasty retreat, slithering her lithe body through the crowd. Elliot leaned onto the bar with his right elbow and took a long drink from the beer he had reclaimed from Murphy and now held in his left hand as he watched Olivia make her way across a dance floor. He sighed and shook his head, turning his back to the bar then, propping his left elbow on it as well.   
  
He knew Murphy was staring at him. He could feel it and he could see it out of the corner of his eye. He chose to ignore him. As Elliot raised his bottle to his lips once more, Murphy couldn’t contain himself any longer. He smacked Elliot’s upper arm for good measure. “The hell was that about?”   
  
Elliot shrugged.   
  
“Seriously, you’re just gonna let her walk away like that?” Murph was incredulous.   
  
“She’ll be back.” Elliot was unconcerned.   
  
“How do you know that?”   
  
“I know her. This is a good sign.” At Murph’s dubious face, he continued. “Right now she’s heading for a dartboard or pool table, whichever she can get to first. This is the one way she can feel like she’s got control of the situation. She does this when she needs to get a grip again. Meaning, I shook her up. She’s rattled.”   
  
“Dude, I’m telling you, quit beating around the bush and just lay one on her.”   
  
“And I’m telling you if I do that, she really might shoot me. She wants this; but one of us is just going to have to break the other—that’s just how we do things.”   
  
Murphy took a swig from his beer, making his best dubious face. “If you say so, man. I hope you know what you’re doing.”   
  
Elliot allowed himself a satisfied smirk. “Oh, I do. I’ve been studying that woman for the better part of a decade.”   
  
The two men turned their attention back to one of the games, polishing off their beers amongst chatter of zone defense, fouls and tournament odds. About fifteen minutes later, with only a few to go in the first half of Elliot’s primary game of interest, he spied Olivia making her way back to the bar, practically skipping across the floor. He wasn’t oblivious to the stares she received from patrons, though she seemed to be. He couldn’t help but think to himself ‘Sorry, boys, that one’s taken.’ He nudged Murphy with his right elbow and motioned to his partner. “Check this out.” He turned in Olivia’s general direction, holding cupped hands to his mouth to holler through them. “Hey, Liv!”   
  
She diverted toward him. As she approached, he called out, “How’s your game tonight?”   
  
She reached the bar, leaning her forearms against the edge and signaling a bartender. “I’m up,” she scrunched her face, calculating, “three-seventy-five and four beers.” Her voice had found new energy.   
  
Elliot just grinned at her in that proud way that announced how he knew the woman who was kicking ass and taking names one dart at a time. Murphy’s eyes widened in shock. “As in three hundred and seventy-five dollars?” he squawked.   
  
Olivia shrugged in acknowledgement. “I certainly don’t need those four beers, though,” she stated as the bartender stopped in front of her. She ordered herself a Midori Sour. “So, whatever you boys are drinking, the next two rounds are on the gentleman over there,” she motioned over her shoulder with her head, “in the glittery green top hat.” The bartender set Olivia’s drink down in front of her and she quickly explained whose tab to add the men’s beers to. As she signaled to Top Hat Man, he laughed—a good sport—and pointed at his own head, okaying the addition to his ticket. The boys each ordered another and Elliot eyed Olivia’s drink curiously.   
  
“So you don’t do St. Patrick’s Day, huh?” When she raised an eyebrow in question, he shook a finger at her glass, indicating the drink’s bright green hue.   
  
Olivia rolled her eyes. “Count your blessings, El. This is as close to a green beer as I’m going to get. This,” she tipped her glass toward him, “is at least supposed to be green. Can’t say the same for beer.” She turned to head back to the games.   
  
“Hope you’re warmed up—I’ll come play you during halftime.”   
  
She paused and faced him, placing her empty hand on her hip. “You’re going to come play me…at darts?”   
  
Elliot shrugged a casual shoulder. “Sure. I’m in a gambling mood.”   
  
She narrowed her eyes at him, studying his expression. “Alright, what are you playing at, El? You suck at darts. It’s only a gamble if you have a fighting chance.”   
  
Murphy nodded. “She’s right, Stabler. You do suck at darts.”   
  
Olivia waved an open palm in Murph’s direction, maintaining eye contact with her partner, silently saying “See, he agrees with me.”   
  
Elliot grinned back at her. “Well, then you have nothing to worry about, do you?”   
  
She gave him a final suspicious once-over and headed back toward the boards.   
  
Elliot could sense his friend’s eyes on him, awaiting an explanation. He took a drink from his bottle, still reclined against the bar, watching Olivia walk away. So this was the type of fun he’d missed out on being married since such a young age. He was a single man for the first time in his adult life; but unlike Murphy, who was a professional bachelor, Elliot Stabler had no intention of playing the field. What was the point? He had his Win, Place and Show picked, and they were all the same woman.   
  
Olivia Benson was his trifecta.   
  
“Don’t worry, Murph,” he said, eyes never leaving Olivia’s retreating figure. “I’ve been practicing.”   
  
“I’m not sure if you heard her, buddy. She’s won three-hundred and seventy-five bucks.”   
  
Elliot cast him a sidelong glance.   
  
“She’s only been over there fifteen minutes! Who knew Sin was a closet dart shark?” He rubbed a hand over his rough square jaw.   
  
“She’s a pool shark, too; but I can hold my own at the table. And there’s nothing closeted about it, Murph. She’s more like a shark in open water.”   
  
“And you’re going to…beat her?”   
  
Elliot nodded. “Yup.”   
  
The halftime buzzer sounded.   
  
“Just how do you plan to do that, exactly?” Murphy was always one for a wicked plan.   
  
Elliot pushed his elbows off the bar, standing to face Murphy. He cracked a wry grin. “Luck of the Irish.”   
  
Murphy stared blankly at Elliot’s back as he strode off to meet his partner. He was silent for a few moments, before shaking his head and muttering to himself, “Now this I gotta see.” He, too, pushed away from the bar, jogging toward his friend. “Hey, Stabler, wait up!”

\+ + +

Olivia was in the process of dispatching another challenger at one of the boards when the men approached. They settled themselves next to a nearby high-table. Murphy propped an elbow on the top, casually leaning on the table, beer in hand. Elliot stood next to him, watching Olivia closely as she and the man next to her exchanged tosses of three darts apiece. He took a long sip of his beer at her jovial laughter when the man asked if she were a long-lost descendant of Robin Hood.   
  
He didn’t notice the women approaching until they stood next to him, also facing the dart boards. One of them was leggy and waif-like with light brown, almost blonde hair and almond-shaped blue eyes. The other was unquestionably brunette with curves that had nothing waif-like about them. The first stood close to Olivia’s natural height in the leopard-print flats she was wearing. The second was taller, aided by the long, skinny heels protruding from the hem of her jeans. The waif eyed him, though her eyes were so naturally narrow, they were difficult for him to read. The brunette peered around him, eyeing Murphy, her smoky lavender irises easily conveying their interest.   
  
He finally caved to the curiosity, wondering what this woman next to him was thinking. He turned to look at her, an eyebrow raised in question. She motioned toward Olivia with a nod of her head. “That your girlfriend?”   
  
Murphy choked on the beer he’d just drunk and his coughing fit earned him a glare from his friend.   
  
Rather than answer, he questioned her back. “What would make you think that?”   
  
The woman pressed her thin lips into a catty smirk, replying, “Oh, please. Men are so obvious. You get these looks on your faces like a tiger huddled over a carcass. That look of ‘Mine. Touch and die.’ You’ve got it now.”   
  
Elliot clenched his jaw. How can he be wearing a face that told the observant that Olivia was his girlfriend when she was anything but? A face that told of possessiveness, protectiveness and…love? Well, shit. Was he really that obvious? Had he always been? More importantly, was Olivia observant enough to notice? She had to be. The woman never missed a thing. Then again, he rarely did, either. Perhaps during the years he had been married, it should have concerned him more that his expression was so transparent; but everything he and Olivia had had always been mutual. They could read each other as clearly as watching individual snowflakes fall through the sparkling glass of a freshly cleaned window. And that’s what they’d had to do…look through a window. Stay on opposite sides of the glass. They could press their palms onto the cool surface against one another, never actually touching, but feeling the transference of energy nonetheless. They could rest their foreheads against the other, their breaths fogging their individual sides of the window pane; but had they stepped away, to anyone else looking through the window, the moisture from their mouths would have appeared as a single cloud. As one.   
  
They could still see each other. Still read each other. But now…now, with the glass shattered and broken at their feet, they could finally touch and feel the contact of skin. That is, when one of them mustered the courage to walk through the shards, risk getting cut.   
  
The woman laughed lightly at him, saving him from the pressure to answer her. “Don’t worry. She’s safe. That one’s mine.” She motioned to the man next to Olivia. “And yours is kicking mine’s ass.” She offered a thin hand to Elliot. “I’m Meredith.”   
  
He shook the proffered hand. “Elliot.”   
  
She reached the hand across him to Murph, who diverted his gaze to her from where it had been settled on the mysterious brunette. “Call me Murphy.”   
  
Elliot turned his eyes to the brunette, who extended her own hand. “Madeline. Call me Maddy.”   
  
When she followed Meredith’s example then leaning to reach her hand out to Murph, he took a hold of her fingers and tugged her toward him before kissing the back of her hand, looking up at her with a boyish gleam in his eyes. “Nice to meet ya, Maddy.”   
  
She curled her full, glossy lips at him. “Just how do you know I’m not here with someone who might kick your ass for doing that?”   
  
He cast her a devilish grin. “I just know. Besides, even if you were, I could kick his ass.”   
  
“You’re a bastard.”   
  
Murph continued to grin.   
  
“I like that.” Maddy apparently had decided she wanted a beer, despite the martini glass she held in the hand not held in Murph’s own. She released her hand from his grip, sidling up to him, slipping his bottle from his other hand and took a long sip from it, never breaking eye contact with him as she drank and handed the bottle back to him.   
  
He lifted the neck to eye level, studying it and lowering it. “You got lipstick on my bottle.”   
  
“Keep grinning at me like that and you’ll have lipstick somewhere else.”   
  
Meredith smiled at Elliot, who was again watching the woman next to her boyfriend carefully. “Your friend there works fast.”   
  
He rolled his eyes for her benefit. “Yeah, he does.”

\+ + +

Olivia had felt Elliot’s presence approaching from behind. Not close, but there. She brushed off the feeling, concentrating on what she was doing. Trying to, anyway. It got harder once she heard his voice behind her. His voice and Meredith’s. She’d met the younger woman when her boyfriend had stepped up to the line to follow in the footsteps of his buddy, who she’d defeated minutes before. She was pretty damned sure she heard Meredith asking about her. Her and her status with her partner. And she was damned sure that he hadn’t answered. She had no idea, however, what that meant or what she’d wanted him to say.   
  
Her opponent made a comment about her being related to Robin Hood and she laughed, thankful for the reprieve. Within a couple minutes, one more throw was all she needed. She lined her toss and hit the Bull, sighing in satisfaction before going to collect the darts from the board. She turned back around and the man standing at the line was shaking his head and laughing.   
  
“You’d think I’d have learned after you took my buddy out,” he said self-deprecatingly, motioning to the tall black man standing a few feet away. “But, hey, that’s why they pay me the big bucks—to compensate for my slow learning curve.” He slipped her a few bills from his wallet, which she pocketed with a sympathetic smile.   
  
“If it makes you feel any better, you came a lot closer than he did,” she laughed.   
  
He laughed with her. “Yeah, well, Burke sucks. And you, my dear, have deadly aim.”   
  
She lent her laughter an evil edge. “You have no idea, Derrick.”   
  
He picked up his beer from a nearby high-table, and inclined it in her direction. “Cheers.”   
  
She retrieved her own drink and clinked her glass against his bottle. Only then did she catch the look on her partner’s face out of the corner of her eye. His eyes were narrowed in her direction. Not angry, but evaluating. Murphy, for his part, looked amused, able to pry his eyes away from the curvaceous brunette standing next to him for a minute, glancing between Elliot and where Olivia stood with her challenger, a tall man with dark hair and permanent five-o-clock shadow. When she studied Elliot’s glare more closely, however, she realized that it wasn’t actually aimed in her direction. It was aimed in his—Derrick’s. That was when it hit her. Elliot Stabler was jealous. He was jealous because she was laughing with another man. She turned to face him, seeing that he was standing next to Meredith, Derrick’s girlfriend, and figured he must know that the two of them were together and Derrick posed no real threat as a result. And he was still jealous. So, he had noticed her tonight, amongst the crowd. Olivia smiled to herself and stood her ground as Derrick moved to rejoin his girlfriend.   
  
As he did, Elliot’s eyes found hers and he only broke the contact when Derrick introduced himself. They exchanged handshakes and names, as did Derrick and Murph.   
  
She shifted her weight onto one leg, taking a drink with one hand and tapping the flights of all six darts against her thigh with the other. Derrick had handed his to her and she held his three between two of her fingers and her own in the adjacent space. She cocked her head to one side and, with a flick of her wrist, brought three of the darts to be held by their tips between her thumb and forefinger. She turned her wrist, brandishing them toward her partner, the challenge clear.   
  
Elliot sat his beer on the table Murph was still leaning on and excused himself, walking toward Olivia. Okay, he wasn’t quite walking. Swaggering was more accurate. Olivia quickly took a gulp from her now half-finished drink before he reached her. She figured she might need a bigger buzz at this point. When he came to stand in front of her, Elliot slipped the three proffered darts from her fingers and then also wrapped his fingers around hers where they held fast to her glass. Despite the icy beverage, she thought the glass felt suddenly hot and she had the overwhelming urge to drop it. Fortunately, this seemed to be what he wanted her to do and he took the drink and walked it over to their table. She followed him with her dark eyes, still wondering why on earth he was planning to subject himself to losing another game of darts to her.   
  
He stepped back up to the line next to her and she turned to face him. “So, what are we playing?”   
  
“Round the Clock. Bull to end, Boss doesn’t count,” she clarified, referring to the black ring surrounded the red circle of the Bullseye.   
  
He nodded. “Care to wager?” The glimmer that passed through his blue eyes told her that he was definitely in the gambling mood.   
  
She shrugged. “It’s your money, Stabler.”   
  
As she had on the stool earlier, she drew her upper body back and away from him as he leaned in toward her, catching herself quickly, forcing herself to stay put. He said nothing as his forehead came within centimeters of hers. He said nothing as he dropped his gaze to her lips, causing her to draw the lower one between her teeth. He said nothing as he tipped his chin toward hers. He said nothing until he brushed his lips right past hers, sliding his cheek against hers, just as she’d done to him. “I never said anything about money, Benson.” The Brooklyn drawl woven into the low rumble of his voice made her knees weaken and she had to quickly instruct them to steady before she simply fell forward into him.   
  
Roles entirely reversed, he now chose not to move. Instead, she had to take a step back and bring her eyes to his. Taking a deep breath, brown locked on blue, she dared herself to ask, because a dare was something Olivia Benson could not refuse. Had she merely instructed herself to ask, her own instructions could easily have been ignored. “So,” she began, arching a brow, “what exactly are we wagering for?”   
  
“Tradition,” he stated simply.   
  
“Tradition?” she repeated.   
  
“Yep. Tradition.” He made no clarifications, merely waited for comprehension to dawn on her.   
  
She appraised his eyes for a few moments, narrowing them slightly when the thought crossed her mind. She pulled her gaze down and away from his, traveling down his face, his neck, until they rested squarely on his chest.   
  
Kiss Me, I’m Irish.   
  
Shit.   
  
“Nice try, El, but it’s not going to work. I’m still not going to kiss you.” She rolled her eyes at him, suddenly wishing she had her drink back in hand.   
  
“Of course you’re not,” he smirked. “I suck at darts.”   
  
She was silent, looking longingly at the electric green drink on the table just feet away.   
  
“Come on, Liv. You wussing out on me?”   
  
Her eyes shot immediately back to his. The bastard was tricky, that’s for sure. She scowled at him. “So what am I getting when I win?”   
  
It was his turn to shrug. “Whatever you want, Liv. What do you want?”   
  
As if she were going to tell him. He was tricky, but not that tricky. She had lines and her admitting that she’d kinda like to rip that shirt right down the middle so she could get her hands on his strong torso was definitely crossing several of them. She rushed to come up with a neutral answer. “I’d like to go home.” At his knowing grin, she added, “Alone, El.”   
  
He chuckled. “Party pooper.”   
  
“Party pooper? What are we now, eight?”   
  
He just shook his head and continued to laugh. “Fine, Liv. You win this game, you can go home and leave all these smilin’ Irish eyes behind you.”   
  
She nodded, satisfied, though it occurred to her that she may have been more satisfied with the wagering terms her instincts had wanted her to shout. She turned to face the board, waiting for him to do the same and open the game.   
  
Instead, she heard him use that same sandy voice he had breathed into her ear. “But if I win…”   
  
She shot a wary glance out of the corner of her eye.   
  
“You have to obey the shirt.” She could hear the laugh still on his voice and he’d obviously said it loud enough for the group at the table to hear because she quickly heard the answering whistle she knew instantly as Murph’s, accompanied by a rallying cry of “That’s my boy!”   
  
She swallowed hard, willing her breath not to quiver and her confidence in her playing abilities to take over. She closed her eyes for a moment and as she opened them, she muttered, “Fine.” She was okay, this would be okay. She couldn’t even remember how many players she knocked out tonight in the short span of time she had used to do it. This was in the bag. “You open.”   
  
His shoulder brushed lightly against hers as he stepped to face the board next to her. Olivia’s eyes widened when his first dart hit the One. Her jaw dropped when his second hit the Two. She was pretty sure that the small squeak she heard came from her throat when his third dart landed safely in the Three space. Fuck.   
  
Elliot looked sideways at his partner in amusement. He walked up to retrieve his darts, turning when he was halfway to the board to face her and walked backward. In a sing-song voice, he announced, “Uh-oh…someone learned how to play.”   
  
Her mouth was still hanging open, looking as though she were trying to form words, but no further noise spilled out. By the time he had returned to the line, she had steeled herself. Without saying a word, she threw her first three, easily hitting the same three spaces he had. She released a sigh of relief. She could still win this. It was just luck on his part.   
  
Unfortunately for her, as luck would have it, Elliot’s next four turns had him hitting the Four through Fifteen without a miss. The apprehension of the terms she’d agreed to began to creep into her mind, igniting her determination to keep up with every successful throw he made. A perfect game would take only six more darts after this and one of them was going to have to make a mistake or this would end at an impasse. She would be okay with that. Perhaps they could just call it even and she could leave anyway. She knew her partner better than that, though, and he would find a way to bait her into a tie-breaking game. That settled it. She had to win this now.   
  
Elliot tossed a Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen. She followed suit.   
  
He hit a Nineteen. She closed her eyes. The next dart hit the board and she opened them only to find it sitting square in the Twenty. She bit her lip. There was no way he would hit the Bull first try. No way. It couldn’t happen. He couldn’t possibly do…what he just fucking did. Goddammit.   
  
She couldn’t lose this bet. She couldn’t kiss him. Especially not in public. Not in front of Murphy. This couldn’t be happening. Her stomach started turning flips and her heartbeat sped up. She got her Nineteen. She blew a somewhat shaky breath through her lips. She got her Twenty. She had this. Even if it went to a tie-breaker, she could handle that. There wasn’t a possibility that he could throw two perfect games in a row. Luck of the Irish be damned. Just one dart, one Bull, that’s all she needed. She’d nailed the Bull countless times tonight already, never failing to end the game on the first try. She brought her throwing arm up to aim, and Elliot must have caught the slightest tremor in the steadiness of her hand, because just as she drew her dart back to toss, he murmured loud enough so that only she could hear, “Pucker up, Olivia.”   
  
That was enough to break her concentration for the slightest fraction of a second; but that was all it took. She stared in shock and disbelief at the board, squinting her eyes to focus better on the resting place of her final dart. The better look only confirmed the fear that she swore caused her racing heart to skip a handful of beats…the steel tip was nestled right against the wire bordering the Bull. Right against the outside edge of the wire, in the black ring.   
  
The gang behind them was too far away to distinguish where exactly the dart had landed, but the look on Olivia’s face told them all they needed to know. Murph had explained to their new friends that the two of them were, in fact, not together, hence all the fuss over one kiss. Then, the whistling started. The chants. The cheers. “Kiss him!” “Like this!” Maddy grabbed Murph’s face and kept her promise to mark something other than his bottle with her lipstick.   
  
She could feel a furious blush crawling up to her face and slipped a quick glance at Elliot, who, it seemed, was nearly as surprised as she was. She silently cursed herself for getting into this position. Where the hell was the Olivia Benson who knew how to turn down a challenge when she needed her? She only wished she knew, because she’d never met her before. Now it was too late to quit while she was ahead. It was too late to cash out. She pursed her lips, turning her head to the side to watch her partner’s reaction.   
  
The sharpness in his eyes was victorious, but the softened edges sympathetic. Then, he did the unthinkable. He offered her an out. Again, only so loud as for her to hear, he said, “You don’t have to, Liv. You know I’d never make you do anything you didn’t want to.”   
  
Son of a bitch. She’d be damned if she didn’t fall in love with him just a little bit more right then.   
  
Just like that, the wheels in her head came to a screeching halt and she was fairly certain her heart did, too. She nodded and tucked her chin to her shoulder, looking down and away from him. When she met his eyes once more, the intensity of her desire to pay her debt assaulted her. It terrified her. She knew now that this would be nothing short of a heart-shattering experience for her. She actually fucking loved this man. To him, this was all just a game. It was a tease, a joke. Following through with the knowledge she had would quite possibly break her, knowing it would be the only time. Would she really want to know the taste of his lips, even if it meant never tasting them again? Did she want to sit across from him every day, watching him work over a pencil with his mouth, armed with a hint of what it might have been able to do to her?   
  
Fuck yes.   
  
She slowly turned the rest of her body to face him, also, gnawing on her bottom lip. She took a deep breath. He’d won. “I know,” she whispered, avoiding his gaze, beginning to wish she had worn shorter heels, because keeping her eyes off his was exceedingly difficult when she stood so close to his height. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t have the last word. “So, you think I’d like it, huh?” Her voice volume raised slightly, gaining in confidence, though she was truly anything but. Her head still slightly ducked, she brought her eyes to meet his widened ones from behind the netting of her bangs.   
  
He was silent for a moment, not quite understanding what she was up to. But then the part of him that had grown to so enjoy teasing her since she’d set foot in the pub appeared in the swirling blue of his irises. He curled one corner of his lips slyly and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, I do.”   
  
She pushed her shoulders back, never breaking the connection between their eyes. She couldn’t believe she was about to say it or what she was about to do, but as soon as she opened her mouth, the logical part of her crashed. “Not as much as you’re going to.” Not giving him time to even process what she’d said, she brought a hand to each side of his face, cradling his strong jaw in her fingers, and dragged his lips toward hers. Foregoing any pretense, she captured his lower lip between her own, swiping her tongue insistently along the top edge of it, all but prying the smirk off his face. Still in a state of shock, his arms remained crossed over his chest, trapped between their bodies and she inched up even taller, standing on the tips of her pink-adorned toes to pull his face straight into her own. Olivia dragged her tongue across his, staking a claim on what she understood to be rightfully hers, even if he didn’t see it that way.   
  
It was when she felt him struggling to free his arms that she broke the kiss, drawing his bottom lip between her teeth lightly as she did. She didn’t know if he was planning to push her away or pull her closer, but she knew she wasn’t strong enough to find out right then. She pivoted sharply and made for the exit with long, fluid strides, leaving Elliot’s and four other pairs of eyes staring after her.

\+ + +

It wasn’t only the cool breeze that struck his moistened, abandoned lips that shocked Elliot into action. It was also the glimpse of something on his partner’s back. The sweater that already didn’t reach below the waistband of her jeans had ridden up slightly higher, from the use of her arms during that kiss, he supposed. It took her a few strides to tug it down, but those few strides were all he needed.   
  
He glanced at Murphy. “Go, man, I got the tab,” was all the reply he needed. He chased after Olivia, seeing she was at the exit already and prayed there wasn’t an available cab waiting at the curb. He blew through the door seconds after she had, and looked both directions. She was apparently opting to walk. “Olivia!” he called after her. He caught her easily then and hooked the forefinger of his right hand through one of her beltloops, tugging her back.   
  
“Elliot, just leave me alone, okay? I don’t want to talk about it. You won, be happy.” She stood still, her back turned to him.   
  
“What the hell is this, Olivia?” he questioned, pulling lightly on the beltloop.   
  
“What is what, El?” She hung her head forward with an air of defeat.   
  
“This.” He replaced his forefinger with his middle finger, using it to pull the waistband of her jeans down only slightly, touching an exposed spot of green flesh with the freed forefinger.   
  
She bristled at the grazing of his finger and reached behind herself to tug the hem of her sweater down, spinning around to face Elliot, effectively breaking his grip on her clothing. “It’s nothing, El, okay?” She looked up now, exasperated.   
  
“Liv, it’s green. That’s not nothing.”   
  
Her head dropped again, her chin to her chest and she wrapped her forearms around her waist. “It’s a tattoo,” she whispered, so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.   
  
“A tattoo?” he repeated.   
  
She replied with a tiny nod.   
  
“You got a tattoo? Of what?” He had an idea, based on the top edge of the green design, but he wanted to be sure and he wanted to know why.   
  
“Elliot, really, it’s nothing.” Her voice sounded weak, almost sad.   
  
He used a finger to tip her chin up and lock her eyes on his. She dodged her eyes almost immediately and he was stunned by the unshed tears that glimmered in them; but he held her chin steady. “Liv, tell me. I want to know.”   
  
“It’s a clover, okay? A four-leaf clover. There, now you know!” she cried.   
  
He kept his voice quiet, calm. “When did you get it?”   
  
“Six years ago, the second year we were partners.” He let go of her chin and she was quick to tuck it to her shoulder.   
  
How could he not have known? “Why, Liv? Why a clover?”   
  
She sighed. “For protection.”   
  
“Protection?” That wasn’t exactly traditional. He looked up and over her head, processing this.   
  
“Yeah. Like a guardian angel. But I’m not really into all that angel stuff and…”   
  
When her voice trailed off, he looked back down at her. “And what?”   
  
She briefly drew her lower lip into her mouth. “And you’re Irish. So it fit.” She closed her eyes.   
  
His mind raced. Olivia had gotten a tattoo. In his honor. A representation of him branded on her body as a symbol of protection. And he had had no idea. Jesus Christ.   
  
“Look, you were never supposed to see it. I never thought you would. I’m sorry,” she began to turn to leave before he caught her by her biceps. Olivia looked up at him in shock, a few rogue tears falling from her eyes.   
  
He framed her face with his large hands, swiping the tears away with his thumbs. “Why, Liv? Why didn’t you tell me?”   
  
She rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, El,” she bit off with an edge to her voice. “You were married. What was I supposed to do? Walk into the squad room, pull down my pants and say ‘Hey, El, check this out. I got a tattoo to remind me that you'll always have my back. I got a tattoo to remind me of you so that every time I look at it, I feel safe. I got this tattoo because I love you and this is the only way I’ll ever be able to show it. A way only I will ever know about, a way that stays hidden.’ What was I supposed to do, Elliot? What?”   
  
He was speechless. Utterly speechless. She tried to wrestle her face from his grasp, but he held tightly, continuing to brush away the tears that were falling faster now. When he got his wits about him a few moments later, he watched her diverted eyes. “I’m not married now, Olivia.”   
  
She shook her head as if to say “What’s the point?”   
  
“And I’m not going to hide anything anymore.”   
  
Her lips fell open and she allowed herself to look him in the eye, searching for any clue in the blue depths of his eyes as to what he could have possibly been hiding from her before.   
  
He didn’t leave her with much time to search because her eyes instinctively drifted closed as he brought his lips down to meet hers. It was his turn to claim his territory this time and she let him, if only because she didn’t know what else to do. So she surrendered and he could feel it in the softening of her lips, the ease with which her mouth opened to invite him in. He slid his hands across her cheeks, weaving his fingers into the hair at her temples, running his tongue over the roof of her mouth.   
  
Olivia moaned quietly, dropping her hands from her own waist to wrap them around his. She curled her elbows, allowing herself to run her hands over the expanse of his broad shoulders. She moaned again when he pulled his lips from hers, this time in disappointment. He dropped his hands to her biceps and pressed his lips quickly to her forehead before dropping his own forehead against hers.   
  
“Can I see it?” His voice was raspy, his breath warm on her lips.   
  
She shook her head shyly. “Not here. We’re in the middle of the sidewalk,” she reasoned.   
  
“You still want to go home?”   
  
She nodded this time, pulling back to watch his face.   
  
He studied her eyes, taking a deep breath. He was done joking. “I love you, Olivia. I do. I don’t have a tattoo to say it…yet…” She giggled and he thought it was quite possibly the sexiest thing he’d ever heard. Olivia Benson giggling. “I don’t know how I can prove it to you, but I love you.”   
  
She brought a hand around to place gently on his cheek, smiling. “You said it. That’s proof enough for me.”   
  
He raised a hand of his own to take hers from where it rested against his face, and brought it to his lips, kissing the tops of her fingers. He wrapped his hand around hers, holding it to his chest and pressed another kiss to her forehead.   
  
“Elliot?”   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“You wanna come home with me?”   
  
His laughter was resounding and sincere. “I thought you’d never ask.”   
  
She didn’t live far, so the cab ride would be short. As it turned out, there were available cabs parked outside the pub. They grabbed one and he let her duck in first before slipping in next to her and giving the driver her address. As soon as the cab was in motion, he took his left hand and slid it around to Olivia’s lower back, where he now knew this tattoo to exist. He couldn’t help himself—he was fascinated. Having no real idea what the design looked like, he absentmindedly started tracing the outline of a clover on her skin and she arched her back off the seat to evade the touch. He smiled wickedly and leaned over to breathe into her ear. “You ticklish, Liv?” He began dropping kisses around her ear, along her jawline, up near her temple.   
  
She ignored his question, squirming slightly away from him. “El, I am not going to make out with you in the backseat of a cab,” she scolded.   
  
He leaned into her, not allowing her to get away from him. “Okay.” He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “I’ll,” another kiss, “just make out with you,” another dropped on the curve blending her neck and shoulders, “in the backseat of a cab.”   
  
She nudged him in the ribs with an elbow. “You’re horrible.” Her tone of voice wasn’t terribly convincing and the way she tilted her head to the side to provide him more access to her neck directly contradicted the admonition.   
  
Less than five minutes later, they were climbing the stairs to Olivia’s apartment. She walked ahead of Elliot, who kept a close distance behind her. When they reached her door, she pulled her keys from her pocket with a shaky hand, the impact of what was about to happen starting to make itself known. She fumbled somewhat with the lock, mostly because Elliot had slid a finger inside the waistband of her jeans and was running it back and forth. That alone caused a shockwave of heat to pool low in her belly and her muscles to involuntarily clench. But it was his other hand coming up to the back of her neck, brushing her hair aside over her shoulder with the lightest of touches and his lips branding the skin he’d just exposed that made her snap.   
  
“Goddammit,” she muttered under her breath, forcing the key the rest of the way into the lock and wrenching it clockwise until the door clicked. She yanked her key out of the lock and pushed the door open, practically falling through it when she did and taking Elliot, who was still hooked to her jeans, with her. As soon as he’d cleared the pathway of the door, she performed a whirlwind of a box-step, spinning around to face him and grabbing a hold of his strong arms. Just as quickly, she reversed her spin until her back was again to the doorway and kicked the door shut, pulling him with and against her until she had herself effectively pinned against her own door. She captured his face in the web of her long and nimble fingers, bringing him to her in a collision of lips and tongue.   
  
His own hands landed hard on the door on either side of her body and he blindly felt around with his right hand until he found the deadbolt and quickly latched it. If he’d thought it was uncomfortable sitting in the taxi and walking up the stairs with his jeans stretched tightly across his erection, he hadn’t really known what discomfort was. His jeans were painfully tight…or he was painfully hard. Either way, the sooner he could get out of those jeans, the better. Elliot’s fingers found their way back to her already tousled hair, managing to somehow pull her mouth even tighter against his while his tongue battled hers for dominance. Using the full weight of his body, he squeezed her between himself and the door. With her still towering in her four-inch heels, their near identical height caused his restrained cock to crash squarely into the juncture of her thighs, the sensation drawing a pleasured groan from Olivia’s throat. Elliot rewarded her with a growl of his own, driving her legs apart with one of his denim-clad thighs and abandoning her lips to trace his tongue along the side of her neck.   
  
She looked up, rolling her eyes back, her breathing ragged. Her hands dropped immediately to his ass, trying in vain to pull him tighter against her. He responded by thrusting his hips hard against her once. “Oh, God.” She realized this really wasn’t going to last very long if his cock remained in such close proximity to her center, even behind the barriers of clothing and she hastily began trying to kick her sandals off, forgetting entirely that they were strapped to her ankles. “Shit.” She stomped her foot in frustration, enough to get his attention.   
  
“What, baby?” he murmured between open-mouthed kisses on her neck.   
  
“Shoes, Elliot. These goddamned shoes.” She kicked one of them for emphasis.   
  
He pulled away from her and looked down at a shoe that, for the second time that evening, was extended in his direction, then back up at her face. Her kiss-swollen lips were pressed into a pout and he couldn’t help but laugh. Her answering scowl was dangerous and he shook his head and patted the top of his thigh. Olivia took the hint; bracing her back against the door, she lifted her leg and placed one sandaled foot on his thigh.   
  
Elliot held her ankle with one hand, using the other to push the hem of her jeans up until he had clear access to the buckle that bound her shoes to her. He released the buckle and again taking hold of her ankle, he slid the sandal off her foot and allowed her to place the foot back on the ground. She offered the other one without prompting and he repeated his actions with that foot. When she was back standing on both, he continued to study her now bare feet.   
  
“What?”   
  
He grinned, shaking his head. “I just still can’t get over the pink toenails.”   
  
She scoffed at him, hands on hips. “What is it you have against pink toenails?”   
  
“Absolutely nothing.” He met her eyes, now having to look down at her.   
  
She arched an eyebrow.   
  
“I think they’re amazingly sexy. On you.” He stepped up to her and she craned her neck back farther to maintain eye contact.   
  
“Oh yeah?”   
  
He brought his head lower and his voice followed suit. “Yeah.”   
  
She tipped her chin up to lightly nuzzle her nose on his.   
  
“You all better now?”   
  
“Almost.”   
  
He drew back with a questioning expression. She flashed him a white-toothed grin that would have made Satan himself proud. She explained, “I think this,” she fingered the hem of his T-shirt, “needs to come off. I’m quite sure it got you the girl already.”   
  
Without argument, he yanked the shirt over his head, watching as his partner drew her lower lip into her mouth to remoisten it after going a few minutes without contact with his tongue, her eyes leveled at his chest. She placed her palms flat on his abdomen, running them slowly upward, fingers spread wide, ensuring to catch his flat nipples on their journey up and over his shoulders and around to the back of his neck. “Now,” she purred, using the resistance from the muscles in his neck to pull herself up to him, “I’m better.”   
  
He captured her lips in a slow, languid kiss, matching it to the tone of her purring voice. The way Elliot saw it, they’d each already staked out their claims, so they may as well take a moment to explore the territory. He let her tongue slip into his mouth, pushing his aside, surrendering the power struggle for the time being. His hands went to her waist, running up her sides underneath her sweater.   
  
Olivia’s skin tingled wherever his hands roamed and she writhed under his touch, trying to signal to him to just take the damned sweater off. As it was, he had it bunched up above the edge of her ribcage, his thumbs and forefingers cradling the undersides of her breasts. She knew he knew what she wanted him to do. He always did. Bastard was just being stubborn. Making her wait. Fuck that.   
  
She abruptly broke the kiss, raised her arms above her head and dropped to a crouch. She dropped so quickly, he never had the chance to move his hands and the sweater remained caught on them, the sleeves inverting until they simply fell off her arms entirely. She stood back up, taking the sweater from him and tossing it aside. He remained motionless, gaping at her.   
  
“How the hell did you do that?”   
  
She didn’t have time for this. Reaching behind her, she popped the hook on her lacy white bra and shrugged it off her shoulders. “Do you really care?”   
  
His eyes darkened considerably as he took in her new state of semi-nakedness. “Not a damned bit, no.” Elliot lowered his mouth to her collarbone, running his tongue along its length. She cupped the back of his head with one hand, fingers gently massaging his scalp, encouraging him. His hands weren’t idle, stroking around and over her breasts. The first rolling of a nipple between his fingers elicited a hum from the back of her throat.   
  
It also snapped her patience. Olivia reached for his belt with both hands, tugging and fumbling until she successfully unfastened it. Elliot seemed lost in his own world, his mouth now laving its attention on her breasts, each in turn, which worked out fine for her as it gave her an opportunity to get the upper hand in the state of undress. She made quick work of the button and zipper of his jeans and, hooking her thumbs under the waistbands of both the jeans and his boxer-briefs, she had them both over his hips and falling to his ankles before he ever noticed. There was no stealthy way, however, to do what she really wanted to do, which was wrap one of her hands around his pulsing erection, gauging his impressive size.   
  
When she did, Elliot hissed, his hips jumping forward of their own accord. He narrowed his eyes. “You’re sneaky.”   
  
She waggled her brows at him. “You’re naked.”   
  
“And we both know that isn’t fair. Turn around,” he commanded, twirling a finger above her head.   
  
She merely cocked her head.   
  
“Come on, Liv. I want to see it. Turn around.” He repeated the command more slowly this time.   
  
Just as slowly, she turned, facing the door. She was briefly amused by the fact that they hadn’t made it farther than her front door. She was then hyper-aware of the man behind her. She unfastened her own jeans, wiggling her hips as she pushed them and her now-drenched panties to the ground in one swoop. She stepped out of them, one foot at a time, using the second foot to shake the garments away from her. Elliot’s hands appeared on her body just underneath her arms, sliding down her ribs, hitching in the curve of her waist before running smoothly over her hips. Olivia craned her neck to look behind her, where he was now crouched down on one knee, eyes level with her lower back.   
  
Holding her hips in his hands, Elliot carefully traced every line of the design on Olivia’s back with his eyes. Up the short, curved stem and around each slightly heart-shaped leaf of the clover. He found himself somewhat mesmerized by how something so simple could have meant so much to her and now, to him. Suddenly becoming aware of just where he was positioned behind his partner, he found the desire too great to resist. Bringing a hand between her legs, he ran the pad of his thumb through her folds from back to front, picking up moisture that he used to slide the finger quickly but firmly over her clit.   
  
Her body jerked forward and she shrieked, “Jesus Christ, Elliot! And you thought I was sneaky!”   
  
He didn’t respond. He simply wrapped his left arm low around her hips, holding her in place and with his right, he did it again. And she whimpered.   
  
Elliot was thoroughly engrossed in his handiwork now, using his long fingers to tease her entrance and swirl around her bundle of nerves. “Jesus, Liv. You’re so wet.”   
  
She whimpered again. Christ almighty, even his describing her own arousal was fucking hot at this point. When the first of his fingers slipped inside her, she fell forward at the waist, slamming her open palms against the door, thankful it was so close in front of her. When it was joined by a second, her forehead joined her hands. “Oh, God,” was all she could breathe. This was not going to take long. At all. The thought of it caused her to clench her muscles around his fingers and she was rewarded with another pass of a finger over her clit. She could feel herself approaching the edge and she tried in vain to keep herself from falling, wanting so badly to come around his cock, not his fingers.   
  
Elliot could sense her hesitation and he made his desire known. “I want you to come for me, Olivia.” He twisted and rotated his fingers inside her, playing.   
  
“Jesus, El.” She tried to gather her breath. “I want…no…I want…” His fingers moved again and talking was ceased.   
  
“I know, Liv. Me, too. But I want you to do this for me first. Can you do this for me?”   
  
Shit, who the hell was she to deny him anything?   
  
He withdrew both fingers and quickly replaced them with his thumb, using it to press forward against the ridge of her pubic bone. At the same time, the two previously occupied fingers rubbed over her clit and it was all over for her in a drawn-out moan , the shudders and contractions of her inner muscles gripping his thumb inside her as he continued to stroke her through the entirety of her climax. He stood before she collapsed back, catching her body against his own, his left arm still latched securely around her. He cleaned his fingers off with his tongue, absorbing everything about them that was purely Olivia. He wrapped his other arm around her, and she allowed her head to fall back against his shoulder as he kicked the remainder of his clothes to the side, working his shoes and socks off with his toes. He rocked her slowly back and forth, his erection pressed into her lower back, right where her tattoo lay and he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “You ok?”   
  
She twisted her head to allow her to pull his lips to hers. She could still taste herself on him, which didn’t really bother her because somehow, it all seemed to be just Elliot. She grinned at him. “Almost…”   
  
“Almost?”   
  
She pushed the curve of her back into him and he instinctively thrusted back at her. The irony that his cock was pushing against a tattoo meant as a symbol of protection struck him. “Liv?”   
  
“Hmm?”   
  
“I want to do this as much as you do, but…”   
  
“El, you’ve been tested. I’ve been tested. And thank God for the Pill.” She said everything matter-of-factly.   
  
He laughed behind her. “In that case, allow me to apologize right now for my lack of stamina because I’m pretty sure this won’t be a marathon.”   
  
She laughed just as hard, covering his arms with her own where they entrapped her waist and squeezing them tightly. “I’ve held out for eight years. I think that’s enough stamina for the both of us.”   
  
When his laughter subsided, Elliot was silent for a moment. She craned her head to get a look at him and he didn’t even have to ask the question, because she already had her answer lined up. “Yeah, I’m sure.”   
  
He bent down to kiss her and when he released her lips, he also released her waist, wiggling his arms out from underneath hers. He ran a flat palm up her back until it rested on her strong shoulder blades, where he gave her a small push.   
  
Olivia fell forward again, settling her hands and forearms back on the cool wood of the door. A strong forearm again acted as a lapbar, keeping her securely where he wanted her. When he slowly pushed inside her from behind, her knees failed her for a second and he used that left arm to hoist her back up, bracing himself on the door with his right hand. The first time Elliot moved inside her, she could feel the tip of him rubbing against her G-spot before sliding past and she grasped for the hand that lay next to hers on the door. Her hand spread over his and she pressed her fingers into the spaces between his as he drove himself into her over and over.   
  
He sneaked his left hand over the rise of her mound and found her clit, rubbing a firm circle around it.   
  
Olivia cried out his name and God’s and Jesus’ and she found it difficult to distinguish in the haze who she worshipped more at that moment. When he exploded within her and she heard her name on his lips, the haze cleared and she remembered that he was the only angel she’d ever known. He was her guardian. He was her faith, her hope, her luck and her love. And as much as she relished the feel of him inside her, right now she just wanted to see his face. He pulled out of her carefully and she straightened on wobbly legs, turning and pulling his head to hers for a quiet kiss.   
  
That was all that was quiet. Elliot’s cell phone rang from where his jeans sat a couple feet away.   
  
He groaned. She buried her face in his chest and smothered a laugh.   
  
“Do I have to get that?” He kissed the top of her head.   
  
“Could be work,” she mumbled into him.   
  
“We aren’t catching.”   
  
“You know how that goes.”   
  
Reluctantly, he moved away from her and she leaned back against the door to help support her recovering legs. He bent down and retrieved the phone, answering it with a hasty, “Stabler.”   
  
On the other end of the line, Murphy lay in his bed. He laughed apologetically. “Man, I actually interrupted something, didn’t I?”   
  
“Yeah, you kinda did.”   
  
“Well, then why the _fuck_ did you answer the phone?”   
  
Truthfully, Elliot didn’t have a good answer to that one. “We thought it might be work.” He heard a female voice laughing in the background.   
  
“Dude. So…did you…”   
  
Elliot rolled his eyes. Let the man figure it out. “Let’s just say I looked over a four-leaf clover that I never knew before.” With that, he clicked his phone shut, tossing it on top of his jeans.   
  
In an apartment nearby, Murphy rolled over to face the nude woman next to him.   
  
“So, did they uphold tradition?” Maddy asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.   
  
“Oh yeah. They definitely did.”   
  
“Tradition is a wonderful thing,” she commented, pushing him onto his back and following him over until she was straddling him.   
  
Murphy smirked at her. “Kiss me, I’m Irish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Welcome to the world of Murphy! Hope you like him as much as we did, because now I can't stop using him!


End file.
